


dangerous love (you’re no good for me, darling)

by sugarsanayeonie



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, Faking Death, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Mafia AU, Smut, Swearing, The Amelia Project AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26317864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugarsanayeonie/pseuds/sugarsanayeonie
Summary: Nayeon has given it more than enough thought. She is completely sure about this; the thrill might even eat her alive.A shrill pulsing tone rings from her phone as she holds it beside her ear.“Congratulations, you’ve reached the Amelia Project. This phone call isn’t happening. If you’re not serious about this, hang up. Now.”//In an attempt to get away from her life of a bore with a matching set of luxurious living, Nayeon fakes her death and emerges with a new identity.
Relationships: Im Nayeon/Myoui Mina
Comments: 9
Kudos: 70





	1. The Empress in Grey

**Chapter I**

_The Empress In Grey_

This isn’t what love was supposed to feel like — from what her esteemed business partners would always dish out to her. Obviously if Nayeon wasn’t so bothered by this, she’d might as well roll her eyes and take another flute of champagne from the poor busboy. From Nayeon’s understanding, she’d describe an emotion like that as a pining ache burning itself into the crevices of her ribs, a craving hunger with the need to be drowned in satisfaction; unadulterated desire.

Not to say she hadn’t opened her eyes to this revelation a while back, her acquaintances only further forced them open. Nayeon isn’t some pathetic woman who’d stay with a wealthy man solely because of his power alone — especially one who’s the head of a mafia — and would much rather find somebody else who could satisfy her needs in other ways.

But don’t get her wrong, she has most _definitely_ tried doing so. The first one was an honest accident, some woman in a club in Los Angeles just happened to land on her lap after an accidental shove. Everything following that happened like a blur; she only remembered getting careless details of a wordy apology, then even more careless touching, and finally her own tongue licking and rubbing up against soft pink matter with lustrous moans spurring her on — therefore landing the mysterious woman several times in Nayeon’s hotel room much later.

The second was by chance, when she’d met up in Japan with an old business partner, Jaehyun, and his wife. It’s fairly safe to say they had secured the business deal in all its financial glory — the real cherry on top to Nayeon, were her own little ‘private meetings’ with his wife every week on Sundays or so, which ended with her own lengthy fingers inside the businesswoman as she bounced on them, screaming in volumes like there was no tomorrow.

Honestly, she’d lost interest in counting after those three.

Point is, she’s ultimately _bored_ of that jackass of a husband; it’s five years of bearing with the embodiment of wrath that is the boss of one of South Korea’s most infamous organized criminal activities.

In fact to anybody’s ears that might sound like a sad little role to play: the “Big Scary Mafia Man’s Wife”; when really all Nayeon has to do to stay at the top of the food chain is mingle with the rich and famous, keeping them tied to a string on her paled fingers.

I mean, who wouldn’t want to get all friendly with an Im? She’d always had leverage in the wealthy department — long before she got into Kyungwon’s pants. Of course, there would be occasions where Kyungwon would try to reclaim her ‘love’ for him with ear-prickling sweetalking and a hand rubbing the length of her waist while they’re alone in their meeting room, but Nayeon’s too far gone down the rabbit hole for that.

She would politely push his arm away, excusing herself out of the dusty old room to go look for that wavy-haired Korean henchman she’d left bright purple hickeys on different days on end.

Today’s different, however. Today Nayeon is in her penthouse of all places, dressed in nothing but a maroon robe curtaining her bare thighs, folded on top one another. Her phone’s pressed to her ear, an impatient scowl reaching her face as she takes another sip of her swirling red wine. That tacky dial tone gets on her nerves.

It begs the question: why would anybody want to start over? To clear things, Nayeon doesn’t hate her life. It’s quite the contrary actually; she loves it so much that losing it by keeping herself tied to an utter buffoon would drive her mad, if it hasn’t already.

One of the reasons she knows this is that she sometimes listens to the whispers in the wind from her grandmother, her words that always tell her to take a stand. To make her own decisions. And for that — on top of everything else she’d done for Nayeon — unlike everybody else who’s replaceable in her life, her grandmother is one of the only people she respects in this sorry world.

This time, Nayeon heeds her words. She would give up all the money and power she currently has in her clutches to rebuild herself — to rebuild her name.

Faking her own death is just the beginning.

**“Congratulations. You’ve reached The Amelia Project. This phone call isn’t happening. If you’re not serious about this, hang up. Now. If you continue there’s no way back.”**

A blatant pause.

**“You really want to do this? Is there anything binding you to your current life? If you hesitated, do not proceed.”**

Another pause. 

In fact, Momo had given her this number, in turn she’s the only one who’d know of her disappearance and consequently, the dominoes of everything else that would come falling after.

But Nayeon trusts Momo with her life. Ironically, the very one that’s going to be put to an end.

She’ll make sure to thank her in person once it’s over with.

**“Still there? What you have heard is true. We are your escape route. But it’s a one way ticket. If you continue there’s no way back. The choice is yours.”**

Nayeon sighs through the next pause.

**“Good choice. A new life awaits. You’ll hear back from us within the hour. If you do not hear back, please consider the whole thing a hoax. Leave your message after the beep.”**

In total, Nayeon has concocted — premeditated or completely off the top of her head — numerous ways to put people down to her skills of persuasion. Once she sets her mind to something, there’s little chance she’d recoil. Some people call her menacing, she’d call herself ambitious. Had Momo not given her this incredibly dubious phone number, she would’ve thought of about 23 ways to get rid of every little nuisance in her life. Two of which are actually legal.

Some people call her outright crazy, Nayeon thinks of herself as morally gray. _Whatever that means._

“I must say this form of communication with your clients is intriguing. It must bring your organization a number of customers on the regular,” Nayeon smiles to herself, bringing the wine glass hovering above her lips, “This is whom people would call if they wanted to start a new life, correct? Be it out of misery from the former, or the excitement of a fresh beginning. Could you guess where I land on that spectrum?”

“I have the money to make this happen so throw the double digits while you still can. I’m expecting that you will deliver excellent results, and I’ll be waiting.”

“My husband is a horrible person — more horrible than I, if you dare believe,” She takes this moment herself to pause, “I want nothing more than to crush his very soul into fine dust. And I’ll do that from the ground under to turn it into a reality. All while doing so in an entirely different name.”

“This agency.. it brings me utmost joy with the very foundation of it. I think I’ll have a lot of fun.”

_**Beep.** _

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

“Miss Im,” Jaehyun, her most loyal butler, bows as he opens the door to her car — actually her husband’s. She’s set to head to a location only known to nobody other than herself and the driver, “I wish best regards on your trip.”

Only someone foolish would be daring enough to question where the woman would be heading at such an untimely hour, and acknowledging this, Nayeon’s sure they’ll keep their pretty little lips drawn in straight lines, “Take care of Kookeu while I’m gone, Jaehyun. I may not be back for a while,” Nayeon speaks to him before he offers a polite nod in response. The tinted windows roll up, and the car takes off.

What fascinates her is that she’d never disclosed her name at any point of her message in the phone call, yet they somehow keyed in the location of the supposed meetup to her own phone. Quite dirty, but it seems it had to be done.

She barely bats an eyelash at the thought though, as none of that will really matter once she’s.. pronounced dead. Never in a million years does Nayeon think she’d be so excited to face such an immeasurably unfavourable fate. It only sinks in further when the vehicle closes in on a gravel driveway, coming to an excruciatingly slow stop.

She’s met with a large structure of what looks to be an abandoned building, by the entrance is a bunch of suited bouncer-looking men lined up in two rows, sporting serious expressions — as they should, considering the job.

But for God’s sake, Nayeon wasn’t aware that she’s now doing a drug exchange.

Stepping out of her car, Nayeon’s escorted to a glass elevator in the rundown structure, which in contrast to the scrappy outward appearance, is in surprisingly good condition. The buttons on the elevator only go so high, the sixth floor being the highest, and the one she gets off on.

The floor alone takes on the appearance of an office setting, with shelves on either side of the walls painted in a thin white and a large office desk with a vacant black chair. A woman in a grey pantsuit walks in from a door in the far corner of the room, eyeing Nayeon with a surveying gaze and an weirdly innocent grin, “Ah, Miss Im. You’ve finally arrived. It must’ve been quite a drive, you must be thirsty,” She brings out two empty teacups from below her desk, “Care for a cup of tea?”

Nayeon takes a moment to take in the surroundings — and the _garish_ grey wallpaper — before answering the shorter woman, “I’ll have to decline, I’m not an entirely huge fan of tea.”

“Oh, I’m aware, which is exactly why I’ve requested Jinyoung to bring your preferred latte,” Nayeon raises an eyebrow at this, watching a man — she’s assuming is Jinyoung — offer her a hazelnut latte, identical to the one she’d have on a weekly basis, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“So I’m able to assume you’ve done your research?” Nayeon curiously questions the pansuited woman, who now gestures for her to sit on the chair opposite her desk.

“Please, we are anything but amateurs,” The nameless woman stirs her tea then takes a sip, breathing out a sated sigh, “This interview is to test whether _you_ would be of our best interests.”

“I’ve already gathered that much, having said that, feel free to skip all the unnecessary details,” 

“Of course, as you wish. Let’s begin with introductions. I’m known in this agency as Empress Grey, but for the sake of comfortability, you may address me as Miss Park. I will be in charge of interviewing you this evening,” Despite her harmless demeanour, Nayeon’s able to discern an oddly ominous air surrounding this woman, “Before anything else, I’d actually like to congratulate you on reaching this number. Not many people continue to stay on the line after the warnings and even fewer of which we return to.”

“Is that so? I must be special then, isn’t that right”

Miss Park smiles, “Yes, well we’ll see about that. Let’s get down to actual business, shall we? Date of birth?”

“September 22, 1995.”

“Date of marriage with Park Kyungwon?”

Nayeon scoffs at the mention. As if she would remember a bunch of numbers that meant nothing to her, “I’m afraid I can’t recall.”

Miss Park’s eyes shine, leaning forward on the desk as she cradles her chin on her two interlocked hands, “You can’t or you won’t? Don’t tell me that man cheated on you?”

“Would I really be here if that was the case?” Nayeon’s tongue is sharp as she shoots back, “The way I see it, all people care about these days are one of two things: money and power; dare I say, if you’re especially greedy you’ll take both. Am I not correct?”

“No, I agree. That would be the case nowadays.”

As Nayeon cocks her head, the grin she sports never leaves her face, “I’m sure if you were listening along to my message earlier, you’d know exactly why I’m here.”

“An unsatisfying marriage, yes. Also bits where you mention you quote-unquote, _‘want nothing more than to crush his very soul into fine dust’_ , I’m fully aware. What I’m curious about is why you’d agree to this marriage in the first place?”

“It was arranged,” The woman raises a brow, and Nayeon taking the hint further implies, “I doubt a child would have any say in such a matter.”

“I see. Truly unfortunate. And may I ask why now?”

It’s Nayeon’s turn to take a sip of her latte, eyes up in deep thought, “I just got the feeling that it just seemed like the perfect opportunity.”

It’s a full minute of silence while Miss Park fishes out a file from a drawer in her desk, a finger resting on the side of her cheek as if debating on something, “I’m glad to say that it appears everything checks out, Miss Im. Any services you’ll need will be provided by our agency, that includes but is not limited to: plastic surgery, relocation, and pretty much everything else that could help you get a little boost in your next life.”

“And how I may die?”

“It’s only natural for us to leave the planning entirely up to the client. As for the agency, we’ll handle all the complicated bits and pieces to be able to execute it perfectly,” Miss Park informs.

“Excellent. I’ll get my people to wire the funds immediately—”

“I should probably tell you now,” Miss Park curtly cuts her off, “That won’t be necessary. We have a different way of settling payments around here.”

“Oh? Do tell,” This agency has no difficulty with acquiring her personal information, surely there isn’t more that they’re missing. Even so, Nayeon’s interest is piqued yet again.

“The money we’ll receive from your transaction will act as a deposit of sorts, just to make sure you’re really committed to this. And the rest of your payment will be made through a job that will be given to you in time. Until then, you are free to carry out whatever you desire to do,” Her gaze darkens ever so slightly before continuing, “When that time comes you have no choice but to take the job. Are there any issues you wish to address, Miss Im?”

Hesitations and second thoughts aside, Nayeon only feels the racing of her heart. _It’ll only get more interesting from here, wouldn’t it?_

“Not at all, Miss Park. It’ll be a pleasure doing business with you.”

Their hands clasp together in a firm shake, “Welcome to the Amelia Project, Miss Im.”


	2. The Sheets In White [M]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Jihyo and Nayeon have a toast to celebrate her final death, and a new beginning.

**Chapter II**

_The Sheets in White_

**SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA **  
 _10/12/18 (Sunday)  
[23:36:29]_****

********

****

****

********

**HEIR OF THE IM FAMILY FOUND DEAD IN HOUSE FIRE**

_(Business world in shock after sudden loss of young businesswoman who paved the way for youthful entrepreneurs)_

❋❁❋

_Im Nayeon, destined for greatness as a prodigy descendant of the Im family, was tragically found dead in her penthouse after a massive fire that had broken out on Saturday. Im was only 20 when she’d built a name for herself and held great power and influence in the competitive world of business we know of today._

_When news broke Saturday afternoon, some netizens were quick to express their devastation, others theorizing the said incident was premeditated._

_“She was a fierce and wonderful woman, one who I’m glad to have called my wife. Above all else, she was the love of my life,” was a statement made by Im Nayeon’s husband, Park Kyungwon, during an interview._

❋❁❋

Nayeon didn’t think watching her now ex-husband fake an act of sentiment on TV would make her breakout into laughter — because it absolutely did. She was always the better performer between the two of them, it’s why they lasted as long as they did, and with no complications on Nayeon’s end.

True joy was how Nayeon watched the show in live time as it came crashing down in a finale bursting into its crescendo, bold and in beautiful red flames. 

There were no mementos, no pictures, no empty promises. Only ashes that she’d left in her wake.

By the time she’d returned to the interviewer’s office at dusk, she had quite the surprise waiting for her, “Do you usually have toasts with your clients, Miss Park?”

The faint jazz playing in the background lulls Nayeon into a daze, as if the alcohol wasn’t doing so already. They’re both in Miss Park’s office, darkened by the drawn curtains and reddened through the dim sources of light hanging off the four corners of the room. Typically, Nayeon never likes taking any meaningless actions to bond with potential business partners, but seeing as she isn’t technically doing that anymore, it wouldn’t hurt to celebrate her new life.

“I don’t actually. In fact, you’re only here because you catch my eye, Miss Im,” She joins a flushed Nayeon on the grey sofa, eyes trained into hers as she raises her own glass to her lips.

“What exactly do you mean by that? You’ve mentioned that before.”

“We choose our clients based on how interesting their cases appear. That’s simply all,” Miss Park takes a deepened sip.

Nayeon chuckles lightly to herself after having a taste of the liquid in her flute, “Seeing as my case fits your agency’s standards, do I myself have a chance at your own, Miss Park?”

For the first time since they’ve met, Nayeon thinks she sees a genuine hint of a tiny grin crawling up the woman’s face — that or she isn’t seeing things straight from the alcohol, “That’s a nice attempt, but I’m afraid my contract forbids me from meddling within the lives of our clients.”

“That sentence in it of itself is incredibly ironic, you know,” Nayeon points out.

“Plenty of things don’t make sense around here,” Jihyo rebuts, loosening her blonde ponytail and shrugging off her blazer, “We can start with the arrangements you made for us. Are you sure you’ve thought it through? Having the same physical appearance may cause some complications for you — one that we might not be able to drag you out of.”

“That won’t be a problem. I’ll be able to take care of that myself. For now, I think it’ll best for me to lay low for the next few weeks or so.”

“Your flight to the US leaves in a few hours,” Nayeon leans further back into the soft material of the couch as she listens to the pantsuited woman, “Are you certain you can make it without people noticing?”

“It’s not like anybody put a bounty on my head given I already cease to exist.”

The woman draws a curt scoff, “We’ll see about that. This whole gamble you’ve designed to your liking entirely depends on how well you play it out.”

Nayeon doesn’t know where the adrenaline comes from whenever she makes spontaneous and life-changing decisions. It’s always deemed reckless to anyone around her if she decides to become a little bold every once in a while. Whether it comes with the possibility of her last breath, Nayeon has yet to be fazed by the spur of the moment.

“You speak like you know everything about me. I’ve put my life on the line far too many times to even count. I’d consider this an opportunity to lower the stakes.”

For the whole duration of their conversation, Miss Park’s attention never falters. She’s like a hawk watching a dove soar at a height below hers, in complete amusement. Nayeon is indeed a peculiar human being.

“Technically, you could say there were multiple things tying me to my past life,” Their eyes lock once more in a challenging gaze — nearly as if they’re daring the other to look away, “But there were plenty others that I considered more of a burden than anything else; things I want to detach myself from completely.”

“You say all that and yet you still harbour the urge to destroy your husband,” Nayeon smiles, and Miss Park fights the need to roll her eyes, “The rumors must be true; you really _are_ mad.”

“Quite rude of you to say to your client, wouldn’t you say?”

“It’s almost like I’m dealing with a patient, right now,” Strangely in the short amount of time, they’ve gone beyond formalities, “I suggest you go and see one during your stay.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” The blonde’s cell phone goes off, vibrating in a jittery tempo as she grabs it to pick up, “Hello? I see, that’s brilliant. Thank you, Jinyoung.”

“I’ve grown rather fond of you, Park. Tell me your name,” It’s definitely the alcohol — parted lips and dainty hands are rather telling signs. But there’s still truth to the first part of her tipsy sentence; this woman doesn’t bite her tongue as much as her colleagues would. An admirable trait for an equally as admirable lady.

“It seems only proper at this point, doesn’t it? It’s Jihyo.”

Nayeon yawns into her fist then stands up to stretch from her uncomfortable position, “Jihyo. Sounds lovely. I feel we’d be good friends if it weren’t for the current situation.”

“Perhaps,” Jihyo guesses, a faraway look in her eye, “Your chauffeur has arrived. Better enjoy it as it may very well be your last.”

“A limo?”

“A sedan,” Jihyo winks.

“Should’ve known.”

“It might take a while getting used to,” Clicking her phone shut, she ushers Nayeon to the elevator, “Remember, we’ll call.”

“And I’ll be there to answer. There’s no need to remind me.”

“I would hope not.”

An elevator ding, then Nayeon disappears as the door slides close.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

**[UNKNOWN NUMBER] [00:13]:** I heard the news

 **[UNKNOWN NUMBER] [00:13]:** You’re dead, congratulations

**[UNKNOWN NUMBER] [00:14]:** I guess you changed your number by now

**[UNKNOWN NUMBER] [00:14]:** Whatever, Nay. I don’t care if it takes me years, I promised to find you didn’t I?

**[UNKNOWN NUMBER] [00:14]:** You owe me~

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

The sound of a flight attendant clicking their heels and rolling the drink cart grow closer as Nayeon peeks through the eye mask and her legs are crossed in a clear state of rest. She’s indeed the most relaxed she’s been in a while, with nothing but 38,000 feet drop below her and a delirious weight lifted off her shoulders.

Nayeon should’ve expected the agency would go the extra mile to put her in business class for a 12 hour flight. In fact, all she really brought along with her from the remains of her penthouse — which is burnt to a crisp at the moment — are varieties of tops and bottoms, her credit cards (under an alias) and products for personal hygiene (because who wouldn’t?). However, they — as in Jihyo — were nice enough to supply her with an ‘exclusive neck pillow’ designed with the agency’s logo and in the most disgusting shade of orange Nayeon’s ever encountered.

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Disrupting her dozing off, a shrill voice pierces Nayeon’s fantasies, “Would you like a drink?”

She brings a lazy hand to take off her eye mask, bringing up her gaze to match the rather innocent-looking flight attendant’s, “Just water, sweetie.”

The lady pours her drink, an accidental brush of their hands as she places it on her tray makes the flight attendant recoil like she’d been burned, much to Nayeon’s surprise. Although, it’s not like she doesn’t know she has that effect on others.

“Are you alright?”

“Sorry, ma’am, I’m fine,” Pink blotches shower her cheeks, “Please enjoy the rest of the flight,” is the last thing she says before bowing and walking off.

Cute, Nayeon thinks to herself, switching the monitor on to watch one of her repeated favourites, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, before sitting back and letting out a shaky breath. She’s about 7.3 hours close to a new location, with a new identity and new connections she’d have to build up from dirt.

Nayeon rarely doubts herself, but a part of her claims she should’ve at least written down some detailed plan on a piece of scratch paper beforehand. All she has is a rough outline of possible starting points imprinted in her head, but she quickly brushes it off and resumes her attention to the actors on screen. 

The only thing on her mind being the poor quality of the packaged peanuts that were offered to her during takeoff, she’s feeling rather peckish and as if on cue, an announcement for an in-flight meal rings from the speakers. She finds that things are better left for later to worry about, and isn’t going to start to dwell in a bottomless pit of regret. Nayeon’s more of a ‘burn bridges without looking back’ type of woman.

She isn't about to make any changes to that anytime soon.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

**SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA**  
 _11/12/18 (Monday)_  
[21:01:11]

It takes a while for the woman’s eyes to adjust to the drastic change in dimmed lighting. The atmosphere alone is suffocating enough as it is, with stray wisps of grey waft and circle the room. Reaching her bare arm out, Momo opens the window to let out some smoke. 

Some of it drafts out of her mouth in a thick fog as she puts out the cigar on the ashtray atop the bedside table. Momo doesn’t usually smoke, and considers it quite unhealthy, but she’s lenient every once in a while and feels the need to destroy her lungs. Perhaps it’s because she hates herself right now — and her stupid tendencies to make idiotic choices.

“I really don’t appreciate you doing that in my room,” The blonde’s voice from the doorway pulls her out of her sulking, “It’s disgusting, Hirai.”

Momo brings herself back to sit on the mattress, “Then that’s an issue for the hotel staff since it’s not your room.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“Possibly,” Momo shrugs.

“You seem to be taking everything quite well despite your sudden loss,” Sana emphasizes, crawling her way to Momo’s side, “Did she mean that little to you?”

An indifferent tone leaves Momo’s mouth, “She’s my business partner. They come and go. I think you should know that best.”

“And here I was thinking you actually care about me,” Sana feigns a pout, innocent actions betraying the fingers playing at Momo’s inner thigh as she lays on her side. She catches Momo’s chin with her free hand, bringing her face an inch away from her own lips, “I think you know more than what you say, Hirai.”

“What do you mean?” Momo breathes against her, eyes trained solely on the latter’s pink lips, licking her own subconsciously, “If you’re trying to get me to speak of something classified, I’ll have to disappoint you on that one, baby.”

The pet names fool everybody — it’s a mutual agreement for a short-lived ‘arrangement’. Their distinct jobs entail to be cold-blooded rivals on the field; a member of the mafia and a hired assassin, except they happen to meet in between clean white sheets and soft whimpers.

“You're insufferable,” Sana breathes against her, eyes trained solely on the latter’s pink lips, licking her own subconsciously.

“I know.”

It’s Sana who closes the gap, lifting her hands to grasp Momo by her wavy locks that smell of sweet, sweet vanilla. Their dynamic is simply enchanting; Momo’s tongue slipping in without warning, exploring the warmth of Sana’s mouth which earns her a low moan. In turn, Sana nibbles on her bottom lip, feeling Momo’s grip on her waist tighten.

“Excited, much?” Sana chuckles against her lips.

Momo’s eyes slowly fall open in a half-lidded gaze, “What’s with you and your inability to keep your mouth shut for a few seconds?”

“Perhaps, I’ll need you to do the job for me,” Her coaxing gets the intended result as Momo pushes the blonde down by her clothed shoulders, straddling her hips and undoing the robe’s silk belt.

“You didn’t just call me here so we can fuck,” Momo husks lowly from on top of her, loosening the belt of her own robe to let it fall off her body and pool on the mattress,“Tell me what you’re here for and I’ll consider enlightening you.”

“You’re always so serious. What if I just wanted to see you?” Sana’s clouded gaze rests on the Japanese’s abs — she’s gotta admit, the woman has an amazing body. She then feels her mouth dry and swallows when she finally moves to her cloaked core, growing a damp spot down the middle.

“You’re drenched, and that means all I have to do is draw it out of you,” Momo slips a finger down the hem of her underwear, coming into contact with her soaking heat. It elicits a desirable moan from Sana as she spreads her thighs wider, urging Momo to pepper open-mouthed kisses to the woman’s toned abdomen.

She lifts her head up to Sana’s torso, taking the sensitive pink bud in her mouth. Momo moves fast, thankfully for Sana. Swirling her tongue around it, she lets go with a string of spittle and a lewd pop. Sana groans at the sight, her right hand moving itself up to bury it in Momo’s raven locks, the action inducing the woman to hasten her own movements.

At this point, Sana’s gripping the sheets with her balled grasp as she lets out guttural moan after moan due to Momo’s sharp and wet thrusts, bottoming out with obscene sounds while thumbing at her clit furiously, “Fuck, Hirai..” Sana pants, looking up at the Japanese with parted lips and strands of blonde hair sticking to her forehead.

Momo is able to sense she’s near her tipping point, the woman’s walls clenching rhythmically. Then she slows the tempo of her fingers, pulling out and smirking when the Japanese below her groans at the loss of pleasure, “You’re not going to get to come tonight, Sana.”

Sana doesn’t try to resist, sounds of panting from both women fill the room. Each trying to catch their breaths from the rigorous activity. Her chest rises and falls in tandem with Momo, finally gripping the older’s shoulders and flipping their positions around in the blink of an eye, “Enough beating around the bush, now tell me where she is,” Sana brings her lips to the shell of her ear, “She’s not really dead, is she?”

“What are you talking about?” As quickly as the lust dissipates, Momo’s left in awe. She’d figured it out straight away, not even a full day into the news.

Sana licks up her jaw, giving small nibbles along the way down her neck, “You’ve always been a bad liar with those cute little tells of yours. She’s always been way too stubborn.”

“If you’re going to ask me where she went, like hell she’d tell me. She cut everyone off,” Sana doesn’t appear to hear her, only dipping lower on her body to stop in between her thighs and suck lightly around her core, “Shit..”

“That was quite masterful of her, don’t you think? I mean I thought she was crazy but not like that,” More kisses, closer to her burning core. It’s agonizing. Momo has enough of her chatter, taking a handful of her hair in her hands, guiding her to the source of her neediness.

A lilting moan leaves her lips, Momo’s head throwing back as her brows furrowed in concentration. Her back arches with a choked gasp as Sana hums, sending delicious vibrations to her core. Momo’s beginning to think it’s getting all too much for her, until she’s proven wrong with a pinching jolt to her exposed nipple. She gushes even more all over the blonde’s face at the sudden sensation.

Sana continues to lap up her juice, sucking on her clit with fervor as the pitch of Momo’s voice rises every time she grinds against her face, body wavering and twitching. She’s so close, and Sana’s fighting the urge to not to pull away and instead shoves two fingers up her sopping hole to add up to the pressure in her stomach. Her ramming fingers partnered with the urgent strokes to her hardened clit finally push Momo to her orgasm. With a throaty moan, her eyes roll to the back of her head, the woman above her cooing at her rival’s vulnerable state.

“You look so precious when you come.”

“Fuck off,” Momo catches her breath, slowly rising to sit.

//

“Did Soomin tell you to find her?” Momo changes back to her regular clothes, sitting on the foot of that while her gaze remains fixed on the woman leaning back on the headboard.

It’s obvious she’s in contemplation. That’s how she is whenever they’ve just done it. It’s instinct for Momo to relieve the woman’s stress in some way, but they aren’t exactly close on that level.

“Not really, there’s something personal I need to settle with Nayeon myself.”

They’re highly incompatible with each other. It’s however of both of their best interests that they resort to satisfying each other with their sexual desires — which is normal, of course. There are some days where Momo wishes to drop the barrier, even by a little bit, just to get to know the person she’s taking to bed. It’s nothing intimate, she just doesn’t like masks. Although, ironically she herself – and anybody else in her life of work – have one, and consider it a gift.

“You can’t hurt her.”

“What makes you think I will? I’m not like you,” Sana shoots, her tone is neutral but it’s they stab at Momo, “She went through all that trouble just to fake her death. What a fucking committment.” 

“You don’t have to worry about me laying a finger on her. Well not in that way, at least. I’ll have to wait before making any daring moves,” Sana boredly taps her fingers against her lap, slumping herself back on the headboard, “Make sure you avoid the cameras,” She reminds with a sing-song voice once the businesswoman slips on her boots and grabs her things.

“I know how to do my job.”

The sound of the door slamming makes Sana flinch. _Rude._

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

**LOS ANGELES, USA**  
_11/12/18 (Monday)  
[00:19:16]_

The motel looks even tinier from the inside than it does on the outside, where the supposed reception desk is a literal counter attached to the side of the wall. Taking a good look around, there’s also a water dispenser. In all honesty, disgusting.

It’s then she curses the website for being so misleading it’s almost pathetic. It’s not like she has a choice anyway, it’s the closest to the airport and the least priciest. Hell, she has the money, but despite her upbringing, she’s not stupid to blow it off on something she could easily be able to make do with.

Nayeon waits impatiently at the receptionist desk, her nails clicking on the white plastic. She’s sure there’s little to no chance of anyone recognizing her. All she’s wearing is a grey shirt and a pair of jeans wrapped with a plaid hoodie as if she’s a teen with a mid-2000’s fashion sense — she’d look good in anything without even trying — and a white baseball cap for extra measure. Apart from the sickeningly casual clothing, she’s in Los Angeles. It’s an ideal option for somebody like her, the only exception being that she’ll just happen to run into any Korean or Japanese here.

A woman in white walks in with an apologetic smile, “Terribly sorry for the wait. What can I do for you?” She asks in perfectly polite Korean.

Nayeon, as unsuspiciously as she can, lowers her cap, pretending to look around the place, “Room for one, please.”

“May I have your name, Miss?”

“Lee Jihyeon,” It’s still uncomfortable on her tongue.

The woman scribbles it on a sheet of paper, “Alright, Miss Lee, please wait a moment,” She reaches to the wall behind her, mumbling to herself and taking a set of keys, “You’re in room 204, that’s the second floor.”

“Thank you.”

Nayeon twirls the keys on her finger, waiting for the elevator to come down. The night’s tranquility is rather soothing to her, nobody around to irritate her but herself. Unfortunately, that among other things couldn’t be helped in the past. In essence, Nayeon’s a new person now. 

She finds her room down the hallway. Struggling to open the door with the old set of keys, she puts on a little more force. It eventually rattles open and she’s met with a cramped apartment with a single bed that looks like it’s going to fall apart at any moment, and a boxy television mounted on a coffee table for a stand.

It could be worse.

She drops her duffel bags on the coffee-stained — that’s what she’s praying the brown stuff is anyway — carpet and lays down on the bed. It doesn’t break, to her relief. She scrolls through her new phone, reading up on all the latest events she’d happened to miss out on. Coming across a few in particular, she takes extra time to read these:

**[XXX]:** Im Nayeon is dead? Her family must be devastated.

**[XXX]:** im jihoon is bound to take up their legacy

**[XXX]:** Weren’t there rumors going around that she was involved in illegal activity? Good riddance.

**[XXX]:** she had a fruitful life. too bad it ended so soon.

It’s pitiful, really. Nayeon doesn’t feel sorry for herself in the slightest, but these netizens are making it impossible to move on. How easy is it to drop a hot topic? 2 to 3 months and no less, give or take. If only the Amelia Project granted her with time warping abilities, then she would finally be able to steer clear of her face plastered all over the South Korean news. The jetlag hits her about 0.3 seconds later, breathing slowly while her eyes start to droop. She has barely enough energy left to change into new clothes, so she just succumbs to the drowsiness, out like a light. It’s crazy to think that nobody is thinking about her at this moment, yet at the same time, she’s being talked about all over social media. Im Nayeon, businesswoman, house fire; three keywords that brought her career down to literal flames. Can one really be that happy about something like that? The normal answer would be ‘no’.

The thing is, someone like Im Nayeon doesn’t think normally at all.


	3. The Journalist in Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Mina, a freelance journalist, needs to rekindle her love for her job.

**Chapter III**

_The Journalist in Blue_

**LOS ANGELES, USA**  
 _18/1/20 (Friday)_  
 _[09:21:19]_

The sheets hang dry on the rooftop, the skies blended with a gust of grey. It’s quite fortunate for her laundry -- that’d been spilled on as she’d accidentally dropped a mug of hot cocoa to keep herself from freezing in the Los Angeles winter -- but not so much for later. She’s been trying to get Jeongyeon to text her back but apparently the woman’s too busy with the dog shelter just across the street. Mina just might pay a visit solely to spite the taller on her day off, after all, she needs some motivation to work her up.

Cool wind morphs into a warm haze as Mina enters, the bell clinging to a hook as it swings in a chime to signal her entrance. It’s as cozy as she remembers -- friendly beige walls and gray linen couches, exactly like Jeongyeon’s color choice for her clothing. She’s instantly greeted by a brown ball of fluff skipping its furry way to her feet, barking out animated yips before Mina hears the woman in question mutter out a sentence of frustration before she jogs over to the two, clad in her signature beige dog-shelter employee apron.

“You really can’t keep yourself away from me, can you?” With a hand on her hip, the sight of Nanan with Mina makes Jeongyeon spill a chuckle.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Nanan nuzzles her nose against Mina’s neck, “I just missed the pups.”

“Of course you did,” Jeongyeon nods. Mina lowers her arms to let the fluffball go scurry off to Jeongyeon’s side, the blonde turning her attention back to her, “How’s everything with Chae?”

Mina purses her lips, she hasn’t talked to the second youngest of their group in a while -- the girl is probably too busy with her girlfriend’s business as is, “We haven’t been talking that much lately. I guess she’s just got a lot on her plate.”

“Who knew they’d actually go for it after college, ‘Son and Chou Bakery’ -- a love story with a cliche ending,” Jeongyeon snickers.

A scoff spills from Mina due to Jeongyeon’s strange narrative. At the same time it holds so much truth, “Those two were always the romantics of our little group.”

“And I praise them for that, there at least has to be one cute couple out of the four of us.”

“Being single isn’t all that bad, Jeong. We have time, freedom even.”

Jeongyeon blinks at her once, expression set into a blank slate before her mouth reveals her thoughts, “You sound like you’ve never once had a boyfriend, Myoui,” Being the one token straight friend in the group has its drawbacks -- and by drawbacks, she means one; Jeongyeon teasing the shit out of Mina for ‘not getting any action’ after being single for the entire stretch of college. “Maybe it’s about time we relight that candle.”

“That sounds more wrong than I think you meant it to be,” Mina scrunches her nose, “And Hyunwoo was just highschool-me being suppressed into thinking I needed someone by my side. No thanks, Jeong, but I’m fine.”

“I was only kidding about that part. Maybe if you’d stop taking things so seriously, you'd actually find a-”

“Jeong.” An emphasized warning from Mina makes Jeongyeon shut her mouth.

“That was the last one, I promise,” A toothy smile in place, Jeongyeon shifts the topic, “So how’s the freelancing? You’d completely stopped beaming about every story you write, what’s up with that?”

Life has its ups as a freelance journalist, you’re technically your own boss -- just the way Mina likes it, she chooses who she works for, when, and what she wants to write. She meets all sorts of celebrities and public figures that one wouldn’t normally get to meet, and she even has access to some pretty neat places. But like life, it definitely has its downs; Mina gets bored of it pretty fast it’s scary.

“It’s nothing that much but stories that pique my interest are just that hard to come by recently,” Mina’s voice grows softer, “I don’t know what to do about it, Jeong.”

“But you love writing?” That isn’t a question Jeongyoen should be asking, because of course Mina loves writing. It was what got her to become a journalist in the first place -- as all ambitions would lead you to. She’s been doing it for three years, and there’s nothing Mina would trade to stop doing her job, “Sounds to me like you need a little soul-searching to do, Myoui,” Jeongyeon waves at Mina, a signal to follow her to the white, linen couches. The woman’s gestures remind her of a therapist’ as she crosses her legs and holds herself up straighter when she sits.

“So, Miss Myoui..” Jeongyeon starts, as professionally as the woman can muster. Mina sits at the other side of the coffee table, trying to refrain from bursting into a giggle, “When was the last time you wrote something? Anything.”

“I wrote a shopping list the other day?”

Jeongyeon’s jaw drops open, “Seriously? Don’t you just type it out in the notes on your phone?”

Mina smiles at the woman’s break of character. “Is there a problem, Miss Yoo?”

“No there isn’t, how about one of your stories? When was the last time?” She continues despite the slip up.

Mina had been working on a few projects, including: a local story on tax fraud committed by a major business, a recent bank robbery that happened just as she left said bank, which is just as terrifying if you think about it, and yet another animal story -- albeit it wasn’t as easy to research about -- again they weren’t really anything that made Mina exhilarated but most people need money on the table. 

“Last week.”

“Hmm, I see,” Jeongyeon rubs her chin, Nanan now on her lap as she strokes the curly fur. “When was the last time you fully felt the thrill of the job as a journalist?”

And Mina racks her brain for a serious answer. When was the last time she actually enjoyed writing up a story? She’s covered many topics in the duration of her job; social issues, politics, entertainment, hell even one about weird looking animals that have recently emerged in the East. Slowly unravelling its ribbons, Mina comes to a realisation, “I don’t think it was an immediate feeling. I just loved to write, and at the time, whatever it is I wrote about I truly loved.”

Except if Mina has to choose one topic she’d write about in a heartbeat, it’s mysterious ones; gore, blood and death. Though it may seem rather grim, there’s nothing that interests Mina more than writing about the details of such. Her second choice of occupation might’ve even closed down to being a private investigator, or just a detective. In fact, she had similar cases back when she was stationed in South Korea two years ago.

Wait.. _South Korea_. Then a metaphorical lightbulb clicks.

“Hey, Jeong,” Mina subconsciously makes a mental note, “What do you think about visiting your hometown?”

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

A Mars chocolate bar, a neck pillow, and her personal belongings are what Mina brings to the airport. It’s all neatly packed in her mint green Herschel, a shade that perfectly matches her blue-striped blouse and dark grey work pants, in her hand, she rolls her lime green luggage across to check-in. On the other hand, Mina has no idea what Jeongyeon’s bringing as she is nowhere to be found. It was a sudden decision, Mina’s aware, and she wasn’t expecting Jeongyeon to go along with it, except time away from where you came from hits home hard and it’s a given excuse to throw a surprise visit for Jeongyeon’s family.

**[myoui minari] [22:13]:** where are you?

**[jeongyeonnie] [22:17]:** coming

**[jeongyeonnie] [22:17]:** go look around or smth i’m about 20 mins away

Mina admits the airport late at night is almost supernatural. On her side of the terminal, she barely sees anybody that she could mistake it for being an entirely different dimension. She scans the place for her options; she could grab a bite while waiting for her friend -- that wouldn’t be very courteous of her, though -- or the duty-free shops with fun pillows and luggages that Mina probably wouldn’t need. She checks it out anyway, unable to pull away from the penguin designed tumbler displayed inside the glass case at the front. 

**[jeongyeonnie] [22:34]:** i’m nearly there wya?

**[myoui minari] [22:36]:** i’m at a store with pillows and stuff on the fourth floor

**[myoui minari] [22:36]:** brb toilet

It’s definitely been awhile since Mina has gone overseas for a story. Though there were many opportunities for her to write there, she just had no motivation to get going and put pen on paper. Los Angeles isn’t the best place to be for Mina, even Jeongyeon can agree with that, but she’s lived there for almost 7 years. All she’s ever really needed is a change of scenery. A new perspective. A muse, perhaps.

Airport water is always too warm for no reason, the water running down the crevices of Mina’s hands as she washes them. Right now it serves her well, the frosty air-conditioning freezing her hands to near immobility. She checks her high-tied hair once, brushing stray strands of brown down the frame of her face as she turns to leave before a voice halts her.

“Excuse me, miss,” Mina turns, the sound of the language she’d grown up away from startling her, “Is this yours?” The woman has Mina’s phone in her hands -- a clear phone case with a small blueberry keychain off the side of it and everything. She must’ve left it on the counter while she was touching up.

Mina breathes a sigh of relief as she hands her the phone, “Oh, thank you so much, I completely missed that.” 

The woman laughs, it’s bright and pure, but she assures Mina, “It’s really nothing, you should be more careful. Wouldn’t want them to fall into the wrong hands, do you?” 

“Oh no, definitely not. I’m actually waiting for a friend, so that would’ve been quite complicated,” Mina jests, bringing a little light to the exchange.

“It’s actually enlightening to see another Japanese here. If you don’t mind me asking, are you happening to catch a flight tonight?” She asks with a lilt at the end of her sentence. The woman herself looks as if she’d be travelling too, a black puffy bag slung on her shoulder while her hand fiddles with her hoodie’s strings.

“Yeah, my friend and I are headed to Seoul. Just a little visit for business,” Mina shrugs then she’s suddenly engulfed in the woman’s tight embrace, letting out a small squeak in shock.

“I hope you have a safe flight,” The brunette says against her ear, it’s sweet and though the implication would normally come across as creepy, Mina thinks it’s quite endearing. When she pulls away, she gives her a pat on the shoulder and a crescent-eyed smile, “It was really nice meeting you.”

Mina brings out a polite smile, “You- you too,” and stumbles through her words.

She waves off, exiting the bathroom with a skip and a hop.

Mina’s learned two things in the bathroom; one: some people are just nice enough to strike a conversation with -- a.k.a be friendlier, Myoui, and two: she smells like Bath and Body Works “A Thousand Wishes”.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

**SEOUL, SOUTH KOREA**  
 _19/1/20 (Saturday)_  
 _[02:47:11]_

Hirai Momo is a woman of her craft, and whenever needed, she’s a dangerous machine of her own making. Excelling greatly in diversified areas, she’s quick-witted, skilled in combat and an actress so immaculately unbroken she could alter one’s beliefs in a single interrogation.

A man that knew of her talents, was Kyungwon himself. The bastard was nothing short of a manipulative freak, a blood-thirsty beast in the shell of a cultivated and dashing man. All of which he’d exploited and grew his empire out of from the flecks of dirt reaped from the ground. And for the longest time, they respected each other like blood -- like family. 

Of course, that was until the very reaping of the seeds he planted was in turmoil. The reason, the death of his beloved. Because Park Kyungwon really loved Im Nayeon. The story of their romance would’ve been a wonderful tale for once they’d bore children. Except the world had taken everything away from him; everything he’d ever cherished. And as strict as the man’s principles go: somebody must pay.

Momo, Nayeon’s closest friend, strapped to a chair in one of the deepest levels of Park Kyungwon’s basement, is dead silent. Not a single sound stirred in the night, other than the trudging of armed men and the heels of Kyungwon’s shoes against stone rippling to a stop in front of the woman.

They meet eye-to-eye, “Hirai, how’ve you been, old friend?”

“Been better,” Momo frowns, “You?”

In turn, he motions for a chair, and a henchman slides on over, “Excellent.”

“What do you want, Kyungwon?” 

“Always so quick to judge, Hirai,” He tuts, “You’ve never changed.”

Momo’s tongue is quicker, “Can’t say the same for you, though.”

“Listen, Hirai, times have been tough for the both of us. You know that better than anyone here,” There’s a lengthy silence that follows, “People come, people go, they live --”

“-- they die. Now what the fuck do you want?” Momo finishes his sentence with thick poison dripping from her words.

All he does afterwards is look blankly at the Japanese woman, then he bursts into laughter like a fucking maniac, the ear-piercing cries echoing in the closed off room as she sits and watches, her own ears threatening to bleed out.

When his laughing dies down, his expression morphs completely, a now stony face plastered onto the face of a man, “It’s been two years. Two years without my wife. _Two fucking years_ of which I’ve been stuck with a permanent image of _my wife_ burning down into powdered ashes in our very home.”

He looks her dead in the eye, the same eyes that watched hundreds even thousands of murders done by his very own hands, the same ones that Momo had grown familiar with countless years ago, “And two years, since you’ve been out scot-free, Hirai.”

He’s been scarred with the memory of the love of his life reduced to nothing but ashes, who could really blame the guy? Momo does feel bad for him. And Nayeon knew exactly what she was doing when she left him in the dark all those years ago. This was the reaction Momo has been burdened to deal with all on her own. _Thanks a lot, Im._

Still, she makes a habit out of leaving her phone off silent in case the woman does make the decision to walk back into her life. “You don’t know the hell I’ve been through. Have you forgotten that I lost her too?”

Momo’s tongue is sharp, yes, but Kyungwon’s hands are lightning fast. He draws a loaded pistol from the inside of his pinstriped blazer, “Well, then it’s your lucky day, I’m granting you a one-way ticket straight there, darling. Unless you tell me exactly what you were doing on December 9, 2018.” 

She’s seen plenty of guns in her life. Plenty. But this one in particular is submerged with the blood of a thousand men coming to his so-called mercy, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you I was at home. Pull the fucking trigger. I’d gladly join your wife down in hell, you bastard.”

Both of their gazes are nearly set ablaze, one daring the other to make a move, “You’re a liar, Hirai,” The man’s lost it, creepy ass giggles escaping his crooked mouth while the cocked pistol in his hand wavers about, still aimed a few inches of Momo’s forehead. “Give me one good reason I should spare your sorry ass.”

“Kill me if you want. I can assure you that it won’t solve anything if I’m dead. You’re just fucking sick.”

There are many ways Momo thought she’d go out: a skydiving mission, an underwater task, a hit made by a task force from Sana’s boss, venomous snakes, and whatnot. But never once did it cross her mind that it’d be a gunshot; behind the trigger, someone she’d once considered her comrade many moons ago.

Somebody once asked her if she’d somehow died during a mission, what her last thoughts would be. And all she’d answered was that she couldn’t know for sure unless it actually came to that. Was it satisfaction of the life she lived? The best memories she’d lived? The acceptance of the whole situation? Plain and untainted fear? 

The answer she felt closest to was: nothing, and so that was what she went with. Yet at the same time, she’s overwhelmed by flashes of a brunette smiling back at her -- with her hamster-like cheeks and the brownest of which she'd forever get lost in.

Then the gun goes off in a blatant bang.

━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━

**LOS ANGELES, USA**  
 _18/1/20 (Friday)_  
 _[23:33:07]_

The coolness of the pillar hits her back, obstructed by only the tiniest amount because of the hoodie she’s wearing. She really should’ve worn something warmer to the airport but it isn’t like she’d have anyone to complain to when she’s on the flight. Her phone goes off, vibrating in her pocket when she goes to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Minatozaki. Report?”

“Yeah, it’s her alright,” Sana’s not worried about being spotted out in the open, getting a perfect view of her target in the process who’s just about to board the next flight to Seoul, “Myoui Mina’s our golden girl. And she’s kind of cute, too. A real catch, boss.”

“Save your nightly escapades for others, Minatozaki. Did you plant the tracker?”

“Yup, one on her phone, the other on her belt. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Good to hear. Nice work, Sana. I expect to hear from you tomorrow morning.” The line cuts, and Sana readies her documents to board the plane.

It’s been a hot minute since she’s visited South Korea.

**Author's Note:**

> “The Amelia Project” is a podcast about a secret agency offering a special service of which is focused on faking clients' deaths and providing them with a new identity.
> 
> I thought it’d be interesting to try and incorporate this into a TWICE fic — ahem, namely with minayeon as the stars — so I hope you’ll all enjoy <3


End file.
